


Long live Yennefer!

by Valadilen



Series: The Cursed Witch [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Death, Empress Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Inspired by The Witcher, Mentioned Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Mirrors, No Romance, Novigrad (The Witcher), Old Age, Older Characters, One Shot, Original Character(s), Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Sorceresses, The Witcher 3 Spoilers, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valadilen/pseuds/Valadilen
Summary: When Amélie Thérèse Gwendoline Louise Joséphine de la Roche-Glacée (or "Joséphine" or "Josie") notices that, after long centuries of life, Yennefer of Vengerberg, her best enemy, is dying; she cannot resist the urge to visit her. But those last moments are bittersweet...
Series: The Cursed Witch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587334
Kudos: 4





	Long live Yennefer!

**Author's Note:**

> Amélie Thérèse Gwendoline Louise Joséphine de la Roche-Glacée (or "Joséphine" or "Josie") is an OC. Let me know if you want more of her. =)

It is said that a witch lives in mirrors. Some say that le infamous “Merchant of Mirrors” locked her up in this strange world to punish her from besting him in a game of words. Others say that she went there herself, for a bit of tranquility. Very few know that none of those reasons are correct.

Amélie Thérèse Gwendoline Louise Joséphine de la Roche-Glacée, also known as “Josie” used to be an average sorceress, second class even. Her name tells many things about her linage, although the blood which runs in her veins had long become worthless. Her family had gotten used of having no land no wealth. As for her professional career, Josie never could live in luxuries like the women of her sisterhood. Those ones never cam to her when a problem needed to be solved; and the Lodge did not even think of her when they first looked for recruits. Josie was neither powerful, nor especially charismatic and certainly not ambitious. The greatest proof of that was the fact that she was living in mirror, or should I say reflections. As long as she could see a world that did not exist, she could go “home”. Thus, she lived in ponds, windows, puddles and tears as well as silverware, golden plates, gemstones and queens’ vanity mirrors. Despite that, she never tried to make herself known.  
Thus, very little is known of her, but a story that Master Dandelion heard once and told to the world –once. The reason for such restrains was the threats on his life made by the Great Yennefer of Vengerberg. It’s no news that the woman as her character born from past tragedies, difficult episodes in life and a gorgeous independent mind. Very little subjects can make her blush; even less can make her feel shame. In fact, there is only one story that makes her feel both shame and furor.

Once, when Yennefer of Vengerberg was still learning the basics of magic, she met a sister: Amélie Thérèse Gwendoline Louise Joséphine de la Roche-Glacée, known “Josie”. The one had a natural talent for metamorphosis and loved to share her knowledge on the subject. At first, Yennefer was very interested and intrigued… but then Josie made a small mistake: she mentioned –Gods know her heart was in the right place—that her spells could help Yennefer hide her hunchback. As you may imagine, the girl was not happy about it. She took the comment as an offence; since Josie was not an ugly young woman. Thus, Yennefer her: “You will stay exactly as you are and neither Time nor Death can change that.”  
You can imagine that no friendship could ever sprout from the two women after such event. The surprise was at its fullest when the Sorceress was Joséphine appear out of nowhere in her room. Eight hundred and sixty-seven years after the unfortunate event, the witch did not change. Her face was young and pale like a marble statue. Her hair was long and dark. Her body was just as tall and thin as it used to be; straight back and perfect features despite a vague lack of meat on the bones. Only her clothes had changed. She used to wear colorful dresses; but Eskel passing broke something in her. The woman could no longer wear colors.  
Josie dusted her black dress then looked around. She saw a small dusty broken room with the special-something from Novigrad slums. There was a chamber pot filled with things the witch would rather not describe and a bed. The bed was old with rags as covers. In it, was lying the very old Yennefer of Vengerberg who could no longer cast the spells who kept her young and beautiful. Her face was cracked with wrinkles so deep mushrooms could grow in them. From her mouth, in which teeth were missing, flowed a viscous liquid.

Yenefer was alone. No lover, no daughter and not a friend to keep her company while she was breathing the last breathes of her life. Geralt had dies, like Eskel, long ago. There is always one lucky monster, an angry elf or one cruel sorceress out there to make the ranks of the Witcher thinner. When Yennefer put Ciri on the throne of Nilfgaard, she did not expect the girl to hate her for it. Has the Empress, she was in her right to banish Yennefer from her company. Although she only did it when Josie brought proves of what happened to Eskel. Now the girl was an old woman who was living the remaining of her years in a small castle, surrounded by her children and grandchildren. Dandelion, as a human, died a long time ago, Zoltan followed him with a knife between the ribs. Triss passed away last year from old age, in Korvir. The rest of the Sorceresses of the Lodges have been hunted down and brutally murder a few centuries ago. Joséphine could not stop herself for feeling a great sadness in her chest. Gods know how much she hated Yennefer; but no one should die alone. By making Cirila banish Yennefer, Joséphine already had her vengeance on her enemy; thus never felt the need to torment her more. It was, in a way, reassuring to know that she could still feel empathy.  
The Witch snapped her fingers to make a stool appear next to the bed; then sat under the terrified scrutiny of Yennefer. She had become an old lady afraid of everything… A pity.

“Do not look at me like this, my dear.” Josie said, her precious accent still as strong. “I have a bad reputation, true, but never killed a defenseless woman on her death bed, even if she would deserve it. It would be very inappropriate.”  
“You—”  
“-have not change.” Cut Josie by finishing the sentence. “I know! Thank to you, really. No sorceress as pitiful as I could maintain a spell to make myself look young, despite being several centuries old… as I’m sure you are aware of.”

Joséphine felt Yennefer eyes on her, terrified and waiting. For what exactly, the Witch had no idea. She did not come here, today, to hurt Yennefer. She looked in a reflection and saw her greatest enemy dying alone. It made her feel sad, thus came to visit.

“I envy you, you know.” Joséphine said, loosing the smile in her eyes. “Dying. What a beautiful luxury, a true privilege. You see, when you’ll cough your lass disgusting breathe, you’ll join your Geralt. Or not–either say you’ll be out of this miserable world. As for I, am stuck here; courtesy of your bad temper and self-hatred. I won’t see the ones I loved, my family, my friends, my Eskel ever again; and believe me I tried to beat you to it. Slit throat, cut wrists, crushed, drowned, burned, poisoned, obliterated… I never died and always reformed as this version of myself. You cannot imagine the among of power I gathered for rituals; the time I spent trying to break this curse. I even went to the elves who were has useless as I. thus, I came to congratulate you: you are the most powerful sorceress in the world. You managed to curse someone for all eternity while still in your little girl’s shoes. Well done.”

Yennefer hated Josie’s smile. It was a mix of sleepiness and creepiness: the tortured arche of her eyebrows, the slit of her wrinkles-less eyes made, the curls on the corners of her lips… But most of all the stillness of the expression. It was like a doll made of marble. Pale and cold, yet lifelike and truly emotional. She looked like a saint. The terrifying kind.

“Leave!” Shouted Yennefer with a shaky voice. None could ear her unless they leaned above the bed. “Get out!”

Josie who was sitting on the stool beside the bed like a true lady, gave her Sister an unconvinced look. Her eyebrow was raised so high it disappeared in her hairline.

“You are aware that I am many things: a spell caster, a witch, a brewer of poison, a bringer of despair, a murderous legend and a source of discord… But unlike you, I’m _not_ cruel. No one should die alone, not even you. Since no one is fighting to pay their respects to you, I’ll stay here and keep you company.” Joséphine said. “Deal with it, my dear. Gods know I got time on my hands.”

Then Joséphine looked away and waited. She was sitting on the stools, still as a statue. Yennefer looked at her, still waiting for the vengeance to fall on her poor old self. But nothing came. The bun as big as Josie’s head was perfectly still. Her hands were one in the other, on her laps. Her back was straight. Only her chest was moving with the rhythm of her breathing. On her sternum was waiting a medallion, wolf-shape. Yennefer knew it held Eskel’s name. For how long will this memento of the Witcher follow the Witch? Only Time will tell. Speaking of which, time flowed slowly in this room. The old sorceress coughed and growled for hours. Sometimes she would fall asleep, sometimes would start crying. Meanwhile, Joséphine looked at the wall in front of her with a distant expression. Her mind was taking her in the many books she had read over the years. Magics, history, epic novels and romantic ballads. It was however a poem that got her attention.

« _Tout cela ne vaut pas le poison qui découle_  
 _De tes yeux, de tes yeux verts,_  
 _Lacs où mon âme tremble et se voit à l’envers…_  
 _Mes songes viennent en foule_  
 _Pour se désaltérer à ces gouffres amers._ » Joséphine recited.  
« I always loved those verses. It’s from my homeland, Toussaint; did you know? I reckon the poet must be long dead now… What do you think of it?” She said.

When she did not receive any kind of answer, she looked back at Yennefer. The woman was still, pale, quiet. The Sorceress had curl in her bed like a child afraid of the dark; but her face as at ease. She was on her side, turned towards Josie. For a moment, the Witch almost saw the young smile Yennefer used to have. Despite everything, Yennefer of Vengerberg was beautiful.

“Yennefer is dead.” The witch whispered. “Long live Yennefer…!”

Josie stood and walked to the door. She could go home via her reflection in the window; but she needed to walk. She opened the door and climb down the stairs. She noted that Novigrad kept on living, nonchalant and careless. There was a time when sorceresses and witches were hunted down, tortured and burn alive and no one cared. Now, no one cared about sorceresses and magic. Heroes were dead. It was cold outside, but the street was crowded with people: merchant of vegetable crying his new prices, a woman trying to get her six children to stay at her side while negotiating with the butcher, the blacksmith shouting at his apprentice, the guard sneezing loudly… And so many more people. None of them knew there was the Sorceress from Dandelion’s tales in Novigrad; no one knew she had just passed away. No one knew, no one cared.

Amélie Thérèse Gwendoline Louise Joséphine de la Roche-Glacée put in her heart the oddest feeling in the universe. The last of her acquaintance left this world. She had no one. No family, no friends, no enemies; since all had died from a natural death or a brutal one. Now she was alone. Wrapped in her cloak of solitude, she kept on walking, and walking, and walking…

Then she blended in the crowd.

And disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> The stanza in french is from a poem called: BAUDELAIRE Charles, Les Fleurs du Mal, "Le Poison". I cannot offer a translation, but I found something which looks correct here: https://fleursdumal.org/poem/144.


End file.
